


Story Time - A Study in Fan Fiction

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Power Play, Season/Series 02, Sexual Tension, Some angst, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have become internet phenomenons, and they have accumulated quite the fanbase. A fandom that thoroughly enjoys imagining the two as a couple, and write fan fiction about it. (Sound familiar?)<br/>What happens when John, and later Sherlock, discover said fiction?</p><p>A story about sexual tension, power play and, naturally, smut in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fan Mail

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime in season two, after Baskerville and before the Fall.  
> Already rated M now for following chapters.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Not beta-ed or britpicked, all mistakes are mine.  
> Characters do not belong to me.

Neither of them had any idea how exactly it had happened, but it had become undeniable: they were an internet phenomenon. The world's only consulting detective was now renowned well outside London, and John's blog documenting their adventures had slowly but steadily accumulated a fandom of rather respectable size. To John's relief, their fans generally contented themselves with expressing their admiration on John's blog or Sherlock's website, and rarely approached them in public or invaded their privacy. With their address being anything but secret, the two men did, however, receive the occasional piece of old fashioned fan mail. John found it endearing, and - as Sherlock had expressed his utter indifference to such tedious expressions of sentiment - made it his sole task to review their mail, convey his gratefulness and flattery by responding to particularly lovely letters and store all of it in a wooden box in his room.

John probably should have been more surprised than he was when, after a little while, he discovered that his and Sherlock's status as a presumably gay couple seemed to be a matter of significant interest even among their fans. Apparently, their hypothetical relationship had a plethora of supporters and John couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement whenever the topic was mentioned. He did, however, have no clue initially as to just how extensive (or imaginative) this support was.

It all started when he got home from work one night to find Mrs. Hudson in the hallway handing him a large, padded envelope with a knowing smirk, the reason for which - as he quickly uncovered - lying within the piece of mail curiously being addressed to "John and Sherlock Watson-Holmes".  
Taking it to his room, John opened the envelope and first pulled out a small, mint green note, that merely read

"I got inspired by _Johnlock_Sailor_ 's fan fiction "Tea for Two"  
and decided to visualize my favorite moment.  
It pains me to part with this piece but thought you two would enjoy it -  
and maybe take some inspiration in it?

Lots of Love,

DeduceMeNot89"

Thoroughly confused, John went on to take out what still remained in the envelope - a simple, wooden frame containing a drawing that, upon first sight, made the doctor choke on his own breath and flush bright red. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he couldn't avert his eyes from the frankly extremely well drawn piece of art, which portrayed what was clearly supposed to be him and Sherlock - in a rather unusual situation. John was depicted sitting in an armchair, facing the beholder and holding a cuppa - while his other hand was buried in dark curls, belonging to the back of the head of a tall, skinny, well-clad man kneeling between his legs in a more than suggestive position.

"Jesus. Oh my god.", John muttered to himself as he continued staring at this way too realistic illustration of Sherlock giving him a blowjob. He didn't know whether to be more outraged by the fact that there seemed to be people out there imagining him and the detective in such situations, by the audacity one of those people had to actually confront them with visual proof of such speculations or by the fact that he had undeniably got VERY hard at the drawing and how it fueled his imagination. Deciding that this situation would best be dealt with by not dealing with it at all (John was a master of denial, after all), he shoved the framed painting in a drawer of this desk, went on to take a cold shower and vowed to himself to never ever tell Sherlock about it.


	2. Fan Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to investigate, doing some online research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed or britpicked, all mistakes are mine.

It wasn't until later that night - much later, way beyond his usual bedtime, but both him and Sherlock had been kept up by an impromptu case involving a foot race with a dangerous killer - that John, who was laying in bed and still extremely wired on adrenaline, resorted to his old routine of having a little wank to calm him down before falling asleep.   
What started out  as a rather standard fantasy involving an attractive brunette who starred in a porn movie John had watched just recently, quickly became dissatisfying as the doctor's thoughts kept meandering and reverting to the image of yet another tall and dark haired individual between his legs. With a huff of frustration, John finally resigned and got up to retrieve the framed drawing from his desk drawer, angry at himself and the sender for letting it get to this point.

As he laid back down, frame in one hand, and looked closely at the illustration, he couldn't stop his other hand from instantly wandering back to his now rock hard cock, stroking it slowly and languidly while imagining Sherlock's beautiful lips stretched around it, taking him deep into his mouth... John let out small moans as he tried to draw out his pleasure just a little longer, savour it just another moment.  
  
Through the haze clouding his brain he thought to himself that in the drawing, Sherlock looked so...obedient, almost submissive, as he was serving John Watson, who exuded an air of superiority with his cup of tea and hand possessively buried in Sherlock's hair. This notion of him dominating the great Sherlock Holmes, of his flat mate submitting to his will, finally pushed him over the edge and he came long and hard.

In moments like these (and they had happened, more frequently than he cared to admit), John generally refused to acknowledge what just occurred, reminding himself that entertaining such unattainable, silly little fantasies was futile and should therefore be treated as if it never happened.   
This time, however, the proof of why his stomach and hand were covered in stickiness was right there, next to him, almost cruel in its accuracy and realistic nature. John felt ashamed, but then was overcome with another notion: curiosity.

What exactly had the sender meant by saying they were inspired by someone's fan fiction? Wasn't fan fiction something 12-year-old girls wrote and giggled over, inventing fake storylines to their favorite TV shows for their own, imbecile pleasures? John was confused. Him and Sherlock were actual people, after all, whose lives weren't written out for them by anyone and - despite their undeniable internet fame - they were by no means celebrities. Moreover, whatever had inspired the image in his hand - it couldn't have been something a 12-year-old could have come up with - or could it? He was baffled to admit that he honestly had no clue just how corrupted today's youth was.   
  
Deciding to investigate further, John pulled out his laptop despite the late hour, suddenly no longer tired but greedy to accumulate more information.  
Typing the title of the work referenced as well as the author, _Johnlock_Sailor_ (Johnlock? He recognized his own name in the pseudonym but couldn't make sense of the rest of it. Did it even have a meaning? God he was getting too old for this!), into a search engine, John was immediately referred to what seemed to be a forum dedicated solely to fan fictions of all kinds.  
  
Readers could apparently browse by different categories, referencing anything from popular TV shows and movies to books and celebrities. He was astonished to find that the category he had automatically been redirected to by his search engine results was filed under the general "celebrities" category and called "Sherlock Holmes  & John Watson". Obviously, members could create whichever category they wished, so it wasn't the mere existence of a "Sherlock Holmes & John Watson" subgroup that surprised John, but rather the fact that it seemed to contain several hundred entries.   
Scrolling through the general overview, he took note that while there seemed to be some harmless fiction about the two men solving crimes together or simply going about their daily lives (did people REALLY care that much?), most of it seemed to revolve around a hypothetical romantic relationship or just purely physical encounters between John and Sherlock. The fact that these stories were generally flagged as containing mature or explicit subject matter and had even been attributed their own category (Johnlock - which, as he finally understood was simply a word created by combining both their first names), did nothing to minimize John's confusion.   
  
He was both baffled and fascinated by the extensive interest shown in their (non-existent, might he add!) love affair - and only a slight bit spooked. So it wasn't just him then, who felt like they DID have potential, like him and Sherlock could have a great thing if only the detective would allow for it, would reciprocate his feelings. John tried his best to ignore that little voice inside his head (which sounded a whole lot like Sherlock), urging him to take into consideration that these people - their fans - had absolutely no credibility or justifiable opinions, for all they knew about the detective and his blogger was what the internet or tabloids provided them with. Instead, John went on to read what he had initially come onto the forum for: "Tea for Two"


	3. Breakfast Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a little conversation about John and his late night activities

The next morning, which was thankfully a Saturday, John entered the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, finding his flat mate bent over his microscope and seemingly deep in thought. After 10 minutes of John puttering about, the man seemed to finally acknowledge his presence, and greeted him by saying: "Ah John. You are up. Surprisingly early, considering what a night you've had..."

"Yeah, I'm seriously getting too old to be chasing killers down deserted alleys every other night. We might want to consider a career change or something."

"Nonsense, John, that's not what I'm talking about."

"No? What ARE you talking about then, Sherlock?"

He didn't get a response, as the detective had already shifted his interest back to the microscope. Shrugging, John made some space on the table and sat down to enjoy his toast. It wasn't until a few minutes later that Sherlock spoke up again.

"I bet it was the brunette, wasn't it? The one with the disproportionally large chest? You DID know that she prefers the company of women in real life, didn't you?"

"No...uh...WHAT?", John was honestly confused.

"Oh, sorry to break it to you then. Although you'd think it was fairly obvious from the tattoo on her left ankle and the way she..."

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you even talking about?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. "Honestly, John, I would advise you to stick to the perimeters of your room from now on until your mind has properly woken up."

"Yes, yes, whatever, Sherlock. Now please elaborate."

"The brunette. The star of the porn you watched last week - two - no, three times? I am inquiring if it was the thought of her that got you so worked up last night? I am testing a hypothesis here, for an ongoing study on porn preferences of the average British male. Now tell me, am I right?"

"You...Sherlock, what..."  
  
"Oh please, John. I heard you. Both times. No use denying it. In fact you were more vocal than usual, which makes this information all the more vital."

"Oh. I'm sorry you heard that. And no, wasn't her." _If only you knew._

"Really? Interesting....Very interesting. The petite redhead then? Didn't think she was much your type, but I don't recall any other in your recent browser history..." _Didn't think YOU were my type, either. Look how wrong I was._

"Just curious. Do you watch ALL my porn, Sherlock?"

"Of course. It is an essential part to this study. So it wasn't her, either, then?"

"Nope.  And with that, I regard this conversation as officially terminated. Go put that brilliant mind of your towards more useful things, Sherlock."

With that, John scurried off, anxious to delete his browser history, assuring that Sherlock would never ever find out about his visit to the fan fiction archive or just how much he had enjoyed it.


	4. Tampering with the Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has made some observations that lead him to believe John is deliberately tampering with his latest research project

As much as John didn't like to admit it, he couldn't help himself but keep indulging in this new found guilty pleasure. He tried telling himself that it was mere curiosity that kept driving him back to the forum - a sort of sociological research approach, gathering data on how him and Sherlock were perceived by their apparent fandom (Research approach? God, he was becoming more and more like Sherlock by the day!).  
If he was honest with himself, though (only an occasional happenstance, at most), he was well aware of the real pleasure he derived from scanning the variety of stories and getting particularly hung up on those with rated content. Although his mind was perfectly capable of envisioning most of the scenarios described well on its own, coming up with one's own fantasy wasn't nearly as exciting and enticing as being privy to someone else's approach, adding an incontrollable and thus somehow more realistic element.  
In fact, John wasn't even fully aware that these smutty stories starring him and Sherlock had eventually almost completely replaced his porn (with much more satisfactory outcomes, if he really thought about it) until the detective voiced an observation to him a few weeks later.

"John, I have started to wonder whether you are purposefully tampering with my research project because you want to annoy me?" It was more of a statement, really, rather than a question.

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, I have long ago given up any attempts to tamper with, avoid being part of or explain the utter uselessness of your so called research projects to you. Why would I, now?"

"Well it seems that ever since I have informed you about my research on porn preferences of the average British male - which you happened to be a vital component of - you have completely made any useful information inaccessible to me, and I can't help but think you did so deliberately."

Not getting any response out of John rather than some incredulously raised eyebrows, Sherlock went on to elaborate:  
"You have always been well aware of my habit to use your laptop, and surely you must have concluded that in the process, I would come across your browser history. Yet you have never felt the need the hide the pages you have visited or the porn you have watched, at least not that I know of. Recently, however, I couldn't help but notice that your browser history has shortened significantly, sometimes only containing hours worth, and hardly ever referencing porn sites anymore. Don't even bother giving me some lame excuse for why you would have suddenly abandoned said habit - I can still hear you in your room at night, no matter how quiet you think you are being. In fact, said occurrences have even increased in frequency, may  I add, which suggests that you have found a new fancy to focus your fantasies around. So either your preferences have suddenly changed to something you are ashamed of or you are keeping this information from me on purpose because you know it will irritate me. As we both know that I could honestly care less about your sexual inclinations, I tend to think the latter is more likely."

Oh, how John hated it when the detective was right. Except he had got one thing wrong: he hadn't kept his new found fancy from Sherlock to irritate him, but in fact quite the opposite. He was afraid that should Sherlock ever find out about the mere existence of, let alone John's inappropriate liking of erotic fiction involving the two of them, it would not only end in intense mockery but possibly even in the destruction of their friendship.

So, he simply shrugged and tried to sound nonchalant as he responded: "Or maybe, just maybe, Sherlock, I do not enjoy being the focus of your latest research, especially without my consent or even knowledge, and just wanted to teach you a lesson."

Sherlock didn't look entirely convinced but let it go with a glare that prompted John to stop playing games.


	5. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have hit a dead end with a case, when suddenly Sherlock has an epiphany and knows just where to search for his next clue - in John's room

Another couple of weeks passed without further mention of the topic, and although John did still visit the fiction archive frequently (thoroughly enjoying this new found addiction, too!), and consequentially deleted his browser history, he made sure to also visit some of his previously favored porn sites regularly to not arise Sherlock's suspicion again.

On this particular day, Sherlock had been on the sofa, in his thinking pose, for several hours now - quiet, except for the occasional hum that usually indicated him shifting around in his mind palace. They had been working on a case and had seemingly arrived at a dead end, something Sherlock could absolutely not make peace with.

While John was in the kitchen doing dishes, he was suddenly startled by a loud thump and turned around to see his flat mate gracefully regain his balance after apparently having jumped to a full stand straight from the sofa. He looked at him wide eyed, almost bewildered, and the obvious excitement over whatever epiphany had just hit him was mixed with a more anxious notion. "I knew something was off!", he exclaimed, "he contacted all his victims before their death - a text message that was seemingly sent to the wrong number, an email inquiring about old school mates, a fake letter about the cable bill. It's his trademark, John! Quick, help me look!"

"Uh. Look for what, Sherlock?"

"How you ever got your medical degree is an utter mystery to me. Please do try to keep up. Like all great minds, he WANTS to get caught! He made sure his case was to be directed to the best, to us! So it makes only sense that he would have contacted us, too! Now help me look for anything we have received in the past few weeks that may seem off to you!"

Only slighted concerned by the fact that another serial killer may have been meddling with their personal lives YET AGAIN, John sighed, abandoned the dishes and went on to check his laptop for any messages, emails or comments on the blog that sounded suspicious.

They had been looking for almost an hour, inspecting their phones, digital presence, bills, receipts, Christmas and birthday cards and even take out menus without much success. Defeated, John dropped into his chair and almost didn't dare to, but suggested it anyway: "Sherlock, we've gone through everything I can think of. Maybe you were wrong about..."

"No, I know I was right! We must have missed something. Think, John, think!"

"You know I'm not a fan of you pressuring me like that, I..."

"You're brilliant! Of course!", Sherlock suddenly shouted gleefully, and for a second it looked as if he wanted to come over and kiss John with delight (or maybe that was just wishful thinking). Instead, however, he turned on his heel, stormed out the door and was heard rushing up the steps to John's room.

"What the bloody...?", John muttered to himself before he decided it'd be best to follow the great detective before he could turn his nicely organized room into a mess on the hunt for whatever it was he was looking for now.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs and was greeted by an open door, which revealed Sherlock sitting on the floor Indian style, a disarray of what looked like paper all around him. Before John could realize what he was confronted with, Sherlock clarified: "Fan mail, John! How could we be so daft! He is a FAN of our work, after all!"  
John was struck by panic and his heart stopped beating momentarily as he realized what else was in that particular box Sherlock was currently in the process of feverishly emptying. Before he could derive a plan, he already became aware that the other man had stopped his movements and was staring at something intently. Taking a deep breath, John took a closer look and wasn't surprised to find that it was the dreaded object in question - the framed drawing of Sherlock on his knees before him.

"Care to explain?", the younger man said in a matter-of-fact tone, gaze still captivated by the painting.


	6. Alleged Superiority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a statement that John finds incredibly arousing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get a little smuttier now...just a heads up ;)

"Oh that", John tried a nervous laugh, "that's just a silly drawing one of our fans sent in. Apparently some of them entertain the idea that we would make a good couple." He hoped the slight quiver in his voice didn't betray his fake amusement and give him away. Alas, hope was just never good enough with Sherlock Holmes.

"Hmmm", the other man hummed. "So many things I could deduce about the artist, about the anatomical inaccuracy of the position portrayed or the type of pencil used, yet the only thing that truly strikes me is the frame. Brand new, yet the wood is slightly discolored right here" - he pointed - "indicating wear caused by frequent touch. Medium to large size hand, strong grip, obviously left handed because of the location." He raised an eyebrow to John. "You have been holding and staring at this drawing rather a lot, and I'm going to go ahead and guess it wasn't because of the artistry."

"No, I...Sherlock, I...It was just weird to see and I...It doesn't mean that..." He gave up. He didn't even know what he truly wanted to say, or what could possibly make this situation any less awkward.  
  
"John, it's fine.", Sherlock sounded annoyed, and just a little bit amused. "Someone got this all wrong anyway. If we were to ever engage in any sort of sexual activity, it would clearly be highly unlikely for ME to be the one performing fellatio on YOU. If whoever drew this had done their research properly, they would know I tediously avoid any situations that compromise my superiority."

John didn't know if he was joking or being flat out serious, but either way he was shocked to notice that something about this situation, about Sherlock talking about it so nonchalantly, was extremely arousing to him.

Thankfully, with that, Sherlock moved on to continue his original search without another word, finally just throwing all the mail back into its box disorderly to take it down to his room for further inspection.

 

That night, John lay in bed and got painfully hard thinking about Sherlock and his alleged superiority. Was that really what he would be like? Would he be in charge, command John to suck him off, as he had implied? It wasn't all that hard to imagine, and the doctor knew that - just like in every other aspect of their shared life - he would gladly oblige, doing as he was told unquestioningly.

He started stroking his prick to the thought of servicing Sherlock unconditionally, bottoming to him in a way he had neither experienced before nor ever imagined (he had always thought himself straight, after all, and acted accordingly). When his fantasy progressed to the idea of Sherlock fucking him, hard and mercilessly, he couldn't stop his other hand from wandering to his backside and caressing his hole. Only once had he tried fingering himself, a long time ago, and he didn't recall the experience as all too pleasurable. Now, however, as he imagined Sherlock's long and hard dick inside of him, he wanted it so desperately it almost scared him.

Quickly, he gathered some lube from the bedside cabinet and slicked up his fingers before resuming his position and gently teasing himself. When he did push one finger inside, the sensation felt odd at first, but so deliciously naughty it caused him to emit a desperate whimper that he was sure hadn't passed by Sherlock unnoticed. As one hand continued stroking, he was first fucking himself with one finger, then two, relishing in the thought of being claimed by Sherlock Holmes, of being completely at his will and begging for more like a two bit slut. He would have been humiliated by his own thoughts, hadn't they been just so incredibly sexy that he came with a deep moan, pressing his face into the pillow next to him, his arse clenching around his fingers tightly.

 

The next morning, John woke up to find himself hard, yet again. Succumbing to his urge, he went about stroking his cock while standing in the shower, and this time it was the thought of flipping their roles on Sherlock, of forcing the other man to submit, that sent him over the edge.

Although he had always had a fancy for the handsome detective, John couldn't recall getting off to the thought of him this frequently ever before. He had to watch it before things got out of hand and could possibly destroy everything they shared.  



	7. An Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally finds out about the fan fiction that exists about him and John. He interrogates his flat mate to find out more about it.

Upon entering their living room, John found Sherlock crouched on the floor in his dressing gown with the fan mail surrounding him, this time in neat piles.  
 "Still searching for our fan gone bad?", he asked.

Sherlock gave him a look that he couldn't quite pinpoint but that made him feel slightly nervous. For a moment, he was scared that what would ensue would be a comment on John's quite noisy activities of the previous night.

Instead, Sherlock muttered: "Nope, already found that one hours ago. Case solved. He was idiotic enough to use an anagram of his real name to the sign the letter with - wasn't hard to track him down. Lestrade arrested him this morning. Now I'm just organizing our fan mail by alphabet". He said it as if it was the most normal thing to do in the world, and John was just about to head to the kitchen to reward his friend with some celebratory tea and biscuits when he was halted in his tracks.

"John, what's this note? It didn't have an envelope or real name, what should I file it under?" He waved a small, mint green piece of paper at him. John knew immediately what it was.

"Oh, that. That came with the framed picture, I think I threw the envelope away. Sorry."

If there was anything Sherlock hated, it was a flaw in his system. Angrily grumbling something that sounded remotely like "Idiot, no foresight whatsoever", he stared at the note in a momentary loss of what to do. John could then observe his eyes narrowing slightly as he read the text that was written on the slip of paper.

"John, what is fan fiction?"

"Uhm... It's fiction, written by fans. About shows on the telly, movies, celebrities, anything really." Ever since having immersed himself in the world of fan fiction, he had redeemed his previous perception and decidedly eliminated young, giggly teenage girls from the definition. Most of what he had been reading had definitely sprung from much more mature, eloquent and imaginative minds.

"But why would anyone base a drawing of the two of us on a story about some TV show or celebrity?"

"Sherlock, WE ARE the celebrities."

"No, we're not."

"Well, our fans seem to think differently. There is a whole archive on the web with fan fiction about you and me." Oops. He hadn't meant to reveal that information quite so directly.

"Oh." A moment's silence. "Ooooooh." It seemed as if Sherlock had just had an epiphany, and he sounded intrigued.

John half expected him to jump up instantly at this new revelation, grab John's laptop and review the material for what would undoubtedly end up as his latest research project sooner or later. Instead, he got to his feet slowly, only to plop back down on the couch, his dressing gown swaying around him dramatically, and assume his thinking pose.

John proceeded to make tea as he had intended, and wasn't surprised that Sherlock hadn't moved one inch upon his return to the living room.

"There. Made you tea.", he said putting both their mugs down on the coffee table. "Funny, I would have thought you'd get up right away to investigate on this fan fiction archive about us." He really, REALLY, should just leave this topic alone.

"Why would I?", Sherlock sounded bored.

"Dunno. Seems like something you'd do. Not having a case or anything else to distract your mind at the moment."

"I don't have to." Still bored, with a slightly predatory quality to it.

"Hmm? Why not?", John inquired.

"Because you'll tell me about it." Matter-of-factly.

"Oh really now? What would make you think that?"

"You have looked it up and read it."

"Have I?"

A sigh. "Of course, John. You are overly concerned with what people think about you. Thus, you would never miss out on the chance to anonymously browse the internet and read up on how you are perceived, how people imagine you would act or how they would describe you."

John gulped. Naturally, Sherlock knew. He always figured him out.

"Well...yeah. I have looked it up. That still doesn't mean I'm going to tell you anything about it though. You can look up things on your own, Sherlock." Defensive mode. This was getting too close for comfort.

"No, John. You'll tell me, simply because I told you to. You always do."

He said it with an authority in his voice that made John light headed and caused a sudden rush of blood to his groin. Damn Sherlock, for being so fully aware of his powers, and damn himself for being so weak. He was silent, no answer was required.

Sherlock reverted to his thinking pose, and after some long minutes had passed, John picked up the paper from the coffee table, daring to indulge in the hope that his mate would just leave it at that.

He didn't. Approximately 20 minutes later, he spoke again: "So what kind of fiction is it that people apparently have nothing better to do than to write and share with the world?"

Easy enough. "Uhm, everything, really. There are different categories. There are crime fictions, where we solve cases,  simple descriptions of boring, every day stuff, there are just plain weird ones, and some are...well...erotic, I guess."

"Interesting. Some?"

"Well, most of them, really." _Shut up, shut up, shut up, Watson!_

"Like the drawing." A statement, pensive. "So, how do people perceive us?"

"Hmmm. Pretty accurately, I would say. You are a smartass, show-off, arrogant git and I run around behind you trying to do damage control", John couldn't hide his amusement.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Naturally. The erotic ones, John, I'm talking about the erotic stories! How do people perceive us in, well, that context?"

"I don't..."

"DON'T make a fool of me. I know you have read them." Steel in his tone.

More blood in John's cock. He swallowed. "Well, I...uhh...the consensus seems to be that, uhm, you are gay, and rather, hmm...inexperienced and I seem to generally be perceived as bi, or gay for you...", he trailed off. Was he speaking his own mind here, or really what he had picked up from the stories? The lines were blurred.

"Who is more dominant?"

"There's...there are both kinds of stories. Split opinions, really." This was getting really awkward.

"What's the weirdest thing you have read?" Safer territory, good.

"Umph, hard to decide. Probably you and me, handcuffed to a bed floating in space." A small chuckle from both of them.

Sherlock was quickly back to being serious, however. "What's the sexiest thing you have read?"

John could feel himself blush as his cheeks and ears got hot, and he tried to avert Sherlock gaze but simply couldn't escape those intense eyes that held him captive.

"I don't know, I mean, it's not like I'm into...you know. Us. You, me. Like you said, I was just curious..." What a terrible liar he was.

"So you're trying to tell me you haven't been getting off to these smutty little publications ever since you found out about them...what, 37 days ago? Because that is exactly when you started clearing your browser history, when your visits to porn sites first ceased completely and then only recommenced far less frequently than before? You are trying to tell me there is absolutely no correlation between this erotica and you masturbating far more often and intensely than you were until 37 days ago? Not even last night?", his tone was harsh, mocking and almost cutting in a way.

John flinched. Sherlock couldn't stand being lied to. Before he could scramble up a response, an apology (what was he apologizing for? It was Sherlock who had pried, who had violated his damn right to privacy, so why on earth would John feel this strong need to apologize, like he did?), Sherlock spoke again.  
His deep voice was calmer now, but no less authoritative. "Save it. This concerns me, too. It has concerned me from the beginning, yet you didn't feel the need to inform me, or include me in any way. Now you will make up for it. I expect you here, 9pm sharp, and then you will read me your favorite piece. And do not bother trying to fool me with some vanilla, PG-13 alibi story. I will know if you are genuine, and if you decide not to be, then I can promise you that there will be consequences."

With that, he gracefully slid off the sofa and strode to his room, leaving John dumbfounded, intimidated and extraordinarily aroused.


	8. Story Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will John comply with Sherlock's request and read him his favorite piece of erotic fan fiction?

John had all day to think about Sherlock's request. He thought about it at work, he thought about it upon his return to a thankfully empty flat, he thought about it when he made himself supper at 7pm, with only two more hours to go until the deadline.  
Why he would even consider such a ludicrous thing, he had no clue. Except that it was Sherlock, it was Sherlock's demand, and no matter how insane it sounded, Sherlock was never denied. And, John had to admit, he did have a slight point. He had kept this issue to himself from the very beginning, and although it clearly did concern the two of them, he hadn't even bothered telling Sherlock about it. Just a simple mention would have sufficed. In his place, John would be mad, too.  Still, that wasn't the reason why he was doing this, either.  
If he was perfectly honest with himself, John knew that the real reason - the only reason - he was even considering his participation in this outrageous game was that it turned him on. A lot. He thrived off the sexual tension between them, and no matter how awkward or uncomfortable this was going to be for him, he knew for sure it'd be bursting with just that. And surely Sherlock was aware of that by now, too. Yet he insisted on proceeding... So did that mean...? Or was this just a convenient distraction for the brilliant mind, an experiment? Certainly he wouldn't be that cruel to John - then again, he never considered his feelings much in any other circumstance.

When John entered the living room at 8:58pm, his hands were shaking, his knees weak and his heart was beating up to his throat. He was carrying his laptop, which contained what Sherlock had asked for. It hadn't been particularly hard to chose a piece, not once he stopped overthinking, analyzing and forecasting every one of Sherlock's potential reactions ("This is silly John, NOT realistic at all" or "I can't believe you would actually enjoy such indecent, cheap filth"). Instead, he finally blocked those thoughts and focused on which story still came to mind in the most random of situations, still made his cock twitch with arousal even upon reading and rereading it for the umpteenth time.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, legs crossed, all smug in his black suit and burgundy dress shirt that was just a tad too tight. Whatever he did all day that ever justified such a getup, John still hadn't figured out. He was greeted with an encouraging nod and a gesture towards his usual chair with the words: "Please, do sit down"

John did as he was asked, nervous that he was now forced to directly face Sherlock during this.

"Whenever you're ready", Sherlock said, placing his elbows on the armrests of his chair and bringing the tips of his fingers together just below his chin. He looked curious, in charge and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. John had to swallow hard, before opening his laptop, which was sitting on the armrest of his chair, and directing his gaze towards the screen, secretly hoping he'd be able to not take it back off there until he was done.

"Uhm...this piece...I chose this story because...well I'm not saying I want this - or you...but it does..."

He took a deep breath, thankful for Sherlock's more or less patient stare.

"It does appeal to a certain kink of mine, in general, so I guess that's why I like it. Also, it was written from John's - from my - point of view, which I suppose made it more...relatable." Good. He had justified his choice, had created an emergency exit for himself in case Sherlock took this the wrong (i.e. correct) way and was potentially freaked out or disgusted by it.

A few more deep breaths, and John started with the title of his chosen piece, thinking it odd all of a sudden to hear nothing but his own voice breach the silence: "Pulling my Rank - by Watson_Boi"


	9. Pulling my Rank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reads Sherlock his favorite erotic piece of fan fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than the previous ones, but it had to be due to the fact that it's basically a story within the story.  
> I hope you enjoy it despite its length!
> 
> This chapter was also the most difficult to write (for strategic and...uhm...getting worked up reasons), so please excuse any inconsistencies or flaws.

_ Pulling my Rank -  _ _ by Watson_Boi _

 

_I hadn't pulled my rank in ages. Being Captain in the military was something I had earned, something I didn't take lightly and didn't like abusing. But this was Baskerville, and although Sherlock was great at pretending he was his big brother, granting us more access than we had hoped for, I knew a little display of military authority couldn't hurt - both in increasing our credibility and speeding up the process of things in our already very limited time frame.  
_

His voice was shaky, he kept stumbling over letters and felt utterly stupid, embarrassed that he currently possessed the reading skills of a bloody third grader. He was thankful he hadn't gone with his initial hunch to print the story out on paper, for he was sure it would have rendered any reading impossible due to shaking hands. Trying to pull himself together and block out the view of Sherlock in his peripheral, he continued on:

_  
When I bellowed "That's an order, Corporal!", using a voice I hadn't applied in a long time, I could feel Sherlock catch his breath behind me, and upon looking into his face just a few seconds later, I could see raw desire before he was able to conceal it. Maybe, just maybe, I had finally found a way to get to the ever so distanced, detached detective. I stood just a little taller, chin up, eyes of steel, as I noticed him stealing glances at me in the elevator. Yes, this was definitely affecting him, and I was going to take full advantage of it._

  
There, it was getting a little easier now. He had got into the flow and was reading more smoothly, if not entirely confidently, yet.

_When we were in the lab together, by ourselves for  a moment after I had sent off the young soldier accompanying us with yet another sharp command, I actually caught a slight blush on Sherlock's cheeks as he shifted about uncomfortably, pulling his coat closed in front of him. Did the man have an erection? I didn't dare hope, and yet all I wanted to do at that moment was walk over to him, kiss him roughly and then bend him over one of those metal tables, one hand firmly on his back, the other yanking his perfect dress pants down, revealing his delicious arse, making him mine, like I knew he would enjoy._

_  
_John's voice had become decidedly more hoarse during his last sentences, which he had more or less succeeded in getting out overly quickly and without thinking much about the content. Now, however, that he was taking a quick break to lick his lips, he could feel the extent of his embarrassment by heat radiating from his face and ears. He risked a quick glance at Sherlock, who was still sitting in his chair in the exact same position he had started out with, save for a small, satisfied smirk that now graced his face. His gaze was still fixed on John, which sent hundreds shivers down his spine and another rush of blood to his already throbbing crotch. As humiliating as this was, reading out his fantasy - this fantasy starring the both of them - to the very man he desired was incredibly erotic, and if he wasn't so accustomed to the unpredictable ambiguity inherent in all things Sherlock did, he would have clearly classified this situation as an exotic form of foreplay.

_We were in our hotel room - our shared hotel room - settling in for the night when Sherlock said with a smirk: "Nice touch, CAPTAIN Watson"_

_"Ha, thank you. Didn't know if it would actually get us anywhere, but I figured it couldn't hurt."_

_"Are you kidding? When you switch into military gear, who would possibly dare disobey? I'm pretty sure you could make anyone do anything you wanted to with that voice. Good to know for future cases, you might just be not quite as useless as I was giving you credit for, John!"_

_I decided to ignore the insult and instead focus on something entirely different. "Make anyone do anything I wanted, hmm?" I walked over to Sherlock, invading his private space like it was usually his demeanor. "You sure about that, hmm?"_

_"John, it was a figure of speech, I have no reliable information..." He sounded annoyed._

_"Well, let's put that little theory to the test then, shall we?" I asked coyly, folding my hands behind my back, nudging my feet apart just a little more._

_He gave me a confused look, but before he could truly react, I assumed my Captain voice and commanded, voice deep and strong: "Get down on your knees!"_

  
He tried to read the line true to script, in his real Captain voice, as that was exactly how he heard it in his head, but failed miserably. Instead, his voice cracked in his dry throat, swallowing half the words and making him sound pathetic. He felt a wave of panic coming on, when Sherlock suddenly shifted and, seemingly out of nowhere, produced a glass of water. "Here, have a drink", he offered in a voice that was strangely deeper than his usual baritone. Christ, the git was truly prepared for anything, wasn't he! Thankful, John took a few large sips and calmed his nerves. It was just Sherlock after all, they had been through a variety of things together, had offered their respective lives for each other, had survived ridiculous adventures.  Hell, he had witness his mate bare his naked buttocks in Buckingham Palace! This, this little skit was nothing in comparison, and he truly shouldn't be ashamed in front of his best friend like that. It was just a game, just another one of Sherlock's silly little games to pass the time. Yes, that helped a little. Setting down the glass of water and clearing his throat one more time, he went on to repeat, this time succeeding in his military voice.

_"Get down on your knees!"_

_Sherlock just crooked an eyebrow. "Now!", I raised my voice, locking my eyes on his with a look that didn't tolerate disobedience._

_Hesitantly, he sunk to his knees in front of me, looking up at me questioningly. "John, what...?"_

_"Captain. It's Captain, Sherlock, and you are not to speak unless I ask you to. Understand?"_  


For the first time, not counting when he reached to give him water, Sherlock moved. He shifted in his chair, rearranging his legs to a position that didn't necessarily look more comfortable, but definitely more apt to acquainting....what? Was Sherlock aroused? John didn't dare to look more closely, focusing on his reading instead and trying to banish the thought out of his head.  


_I could see his eyes widening and his throat move as he swallowed before lowering his gaze and breathing out "Yes..."_

_I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back up to look at me. "Yes, SIR", I hissed._

_"Yes, Sir", he quickly corrected himself, desire now fully apparent in his voice, his eyes and - as I looked down - also in his trousers._

_"Undress", I ordered, staring at him expectantly. Biting his full, lower lip, he quickly slid off his blazer, then took to unbuttoning his shirt. "Come on, speed it up", I urged, secretly enjoying the way he clumsily tried to undo his buttons, fighting against his own trembling hands._

_After the shirt was off, too, Sherlock undid his belt and then put up one leg, about to stand up to pull down his trousers. "Uh, uh", I quickly chastised, holding him down by his shoulder. "I didn't say you were allowed to get up, now did I?" - "No, Sir", he mumbled and proceeded to wriggle out of his trousers and pants while remaining mostly in his kneeling position. It was undignified, his face bright red with humiliation, yet his now exposed cock was hard, flushed and leaking, similarly to mine, tucked away uncomfortably in my pants._  
  
  
John couldn't help but notice the irony of his situation. There he was, submitting to Sherlock's will by taking part in this - he still didn't know what he should call it, really -, the other man's authority almost tangible, yet he was reading  out a fantasy about dominating Sherlock. Suddenly, a surge of fear shot through him as he considered the possible implications of this circumstance. Hopefully Sherlock wouldn't be mad, or displeased, that he had chosen a story with such content. After all, he had ascertained just the other day how he would likely never be found in any situation compromising his  superiority. And yet that was exactly what John had decided to read aloud to him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. No matter how much this little military fan fiction turned him on, he should have chosen something that would please Sherlock a little more, he thought. And then: why should he care, though? He had simply followed orders, and it wasn't as if he was trying to get anything from his friend - was it?  
  


_"God. Look at you. Wanton and horny from just a few commands of mine, hmm? Who would have ever thought the great Sherlock Holmes would be such a sucker for being controlled, submitting to someone else's will?", I observed with a bemused tone._

_"Not...anyone..else's", he whispered breathlessly, voice thick with lust, "Just...just yours, Captain"_  
  
  
 John found it hard to read Sherlock's parts of the story, wanting to stick with the integrity of the story and intonate them accordingly, yet cautious of offending the man who was sitting right across from him.

_I ran my fingers through his hair almost gently, before yanking his head to my crotch, pressing his face into the bulge in my trousers._

_"Ready to show me just how much you mean it, Sherlock?", I inquired while undoing my belt and zipper and freeing my erection, trying to keep my voice from revealing just how desperately I wanted this, too._

_"Yes, Sir", he mumbled into my crotch, inhaling deeply and letting out a soft moan._

_"Well, go on then", I commanded, "suck my cock"_

  
John's voice threatened to break once more, and he quickly took a sip of water. He was so turned on by now, the way his cock was straining against his trousers was bordering on painful. Subtly, he tried to readjust himself, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice, before he resumed his reading, voice still trembling and deep with desire.

_And suck he did. Lord knows if he had even done this before, but if not he certainly was a natural. His talented tongue felt heavenly as it caressed my shaft, and I could hardly suppress a groan when his warm mouth finally took in the length of me. Sherlock looked up at me, eyes black with lust, cheeks hollowed and those full lips encircling me to perfection. Our gazes locked yet again, but this time, for the briefest of moments, I fell out of character, conveying all my true affection for him with a short blink of an eyelash. It was only a split second, but I knew Sherlock had caught it - the man never missed anything - and he reciprocated by closing his eyes and taking me in even deeper, bobbing his head feverishly and passionately._

  
This part had been the most difficult so far. Aware that Sherlock had said he would likely never perform fellatio, John found it awkward that he was reading out a description of just that, and that he was so undeniably enjoying it. At this point he was beyond worrying about whether Sherlock would be able to determine that he took actual pleasure in these fantasies (that much would be obvious to even Anderson by now, let alone a genius like his flat mate), and what that might imply, and had moved on to seriously worrying about how Sherlock would react to the CONTENT of this very story.

As if he had been reading his mind, Sherlock gave a snort, causing John to look at him, really look at him, for the first since he had started reading. The man's face was slightly flushed and he seemed to be panting somewhat, but whether both was caused by anger or arousal John couldn't quite determine. His eyes were hazed with a mystified expression, almost soft if it weren't for their distinct intensity, but they were betrayed by Sherlock's voice when he decided to speak. Although his baritone was deeper, smoother than usual, it had a mocking quality to it: "So this is what you think it'd be like, huh? What you find arousing? Me, on my knees for you, following your every command? Sucking your bloody dick?"

John didn't know if this was a trap, if Sherlock was mad, angry at him, or simply amused. He hoped for the latter, but it was hard to judge with this one. He quickly closed his eyes, gathering his wits, then decided to go all in. Hell, it's not like it mattered anymore, his arousal was clearly on display for anyone to see, right there between his legs.

"I mean...this isn't my story, don't forget that, hm? But...uhm... yes. I do find the thought somewhat exciting..."

"Yeah?", Sherlock raised an eyebrow, suddenly smirking again. He then slipped down from his chair, onto the floor, ending up on his knees right in the middle of the space separating John's from Sherlock's usual sitting place. "You like this? Me, in my expensive clothes, with my arrogant demeanor, on the floor in front of you? Forced to look up at you? Is this what you want?", he scoffed.

John couldn't answer, simply swallowed down a moan as he was overtaken by so much want, and need, that he almost couldn't stand it anymore.

Sherlock laughed, and it was hurtful and exquisite, all at once. "Oh, no, John, I'm not going to suck your cock. I just wanted to give you a nice visual to accompany your story, as I now know how much you like that", he was hinting at the framed drawing, tone still cutting bitterly. "Please, do go on reading, I believe you weren't quite finished?"

So he was just going to stay there. On his knees, looking up at him, lips parted slightly, eyes dark and wanting and dangerous, oh so dangerous...And his trousers much tighter than usual around his groin. For a moment, John thought he might come at the mere sight in front of him.

He realized a split second too late, that his hand had subconsciously moved to where his erection was clearly outlined against his jeans, and he flinched at the much yearned for touch, instantly directing Sherlock's attention to his mistake.  
"It's alright, John, you can touch yourself, so long as you keep reading", the younger man offered unexpectedly, and John didn't know whether he was being kind or cruel.  
 Reluctant to let himself reach such lows and determined to proof that  he had at least some self control left in him, John just briefly shook his head and retracted his hand carefully before continuing on.

_I fisted the back of his head and guided his motions firmly, never releasing my authority over him, until I felt my orgasm come on and quickly pushed him away from me. He shot me a questioning look, and I reveled in the sight of his naked, pale body in front of me, too skinny but oh so willing, and pure and perfect. Oh what I would do to this gorgeous man, take him apart piece by piece, claim him, in every way possible, and then reassemble him, never letting him forget that I owned him._

  
Glancing at Sherlock, the REAL Sherlock, clothed and unattainable but oh so REAL on his knees in front of him as he was reading these lines, John sent all self discipline to hell and started palming his erection through his pants. With a shaky voice that was interrupted by sharp breaths and small moans, he forced himself to keep reading.

_To this extent, I needed to deny myself just a little bit longer, although I would have loved nothing more than to come into this arrogant, snarky, selfish but endlessly beautiful mouth. Instead, I just steadied my voice and instructed sharply:_

_"I will be right back, Sherlock. Upon my return, I want you bent over the desk, legs spread, hands above your head and your arse ready for my cock. Lube is in the side pocket of my suitcase. Are we clear??"_

_"Yes, Sir."_

  
When the last two words were spoken by John in unison with watching Sherlock mouthing them in front of him, he was sent over the edge, momentarily blinded by all consuming whiteness and unable to breath as he came in his pants with an intensity that he couldn't recall ever having experienced without actual skin on skin contact before.  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any stories or authors referenced in the context of this fiction are completely the result of my own imagination, similarities to existing pieces/people are purely coincidental!


	10. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I'm not quite ready yet to present you with a happy ending - also, there are some more lose strings to tie up / odd behaviors to explain! So hang in there ;)

For a moment, the room had gone completely silent save for both of their labored panting. Then Sherlock suddenly jumped up from his position on the floor and backed up several steps, a bewildered expression on his face.

"That...whatever that was...it was incredible", John managed to press out, desperately hoping this genuine expression of his feelings would keep Sherlock from what he sure looked like he was about to do - dismiss the whole thing, belittle it, make fun of it.   
  
His attempt was futile.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you enjoyed this little intermezzo", the detective had regained full control over his voice and facial expression, now looking down at John with eyes piercing like steel, "because this... - this! - ", he gestured at the space between them, then at the laptop, "is NEVER going to happen. Are we clear on THAT?" His words hit John like the crack of a whip. "Now, please do go clean up - your current state is appalling, John", Sherlock added while making a point of staring at the wet spot that had started to seep through the blogger's trousers.

John clenched his fists, locked his jaw and left the room without another word, trying to hold back tears of shame that had started to form in the corners of his eyes.


	11. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes his behavior may have been out of line and comes to John to apologize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the angst that has invaded the next couple of chapters. I thrive off angst, so it's not really all too surprising that it caught up with me eventually, but then again it has kind of been there all along. But I promise it'll make sense with and integrate nicely into the storyline! :)

It was the next morning, and as John didn't have to go to work that day, he decided to sleep in - wanting to hide out in his bed preferably for all eternity. He didn't know how he would ever be able to face his best friend again, not after what a fool he had made of himself the previous night. John was mostly ashamed, but also hurt, and confused. He had thought, at some point, that Sherlock was enjoying himself, too - that, no matter how odd or strange the situation had been, he wasn't the only one who had been aroused by it. But Sherlock had made himself very clear, and now here John was, left to pick up the pieces of what he was certain was the end of a great friendship.

He had just rolled over to try and go back to sleep when he heard a soft knock on the door. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm not feeling well this morning, I'll go get your groceries later!", he shouted through the closed door. It was opened, hesitantly, and a deep voice mumbled: "It's me John - may I come in?"

"Oh. Uhm. Sure, I guess."He wasn't convinced he wanted to hear any more his friend to say to him.

Sherlock walked in slowly, closing the door behind him. He was in his pajamas and dressing gown, hair disheveled and eyes set heavy and low.  

"Thought you were Mrs. Hudson there. You don't usually knock.", John observed.

"I just wanted to make sure you're...decent", Sherlock explained, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"You just wanted to make sure I was DECENT?", John raised his voice, sitting up in bed. Sudden anger shot through him and he couldn't stop the words tumbling from his mouth. "Contrary to what your self-obsessed, narcissist, arrogant mind assumes or what impression you got last night, I can assure you that I do NOT spend every minute of every day getting off to the thought of you. So don't worry Sherlock, I'm no less decent around you now than I was before.", He spat, his tone cold and biting.  
  
He hadn't meant to unleash like that, and he instantly felt bad for it, especially once he saw Sherlock's pained expression.

The other man sank down onto the edge of his bed, and John let him. Covering his face in his large hands, his back turned to John, Sherlock muttered, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, John. I am so sorry".

John didn't know what to say or do - this was new territory, Sherlock never apologized.

Apparently he wasn't done yet, either. "I need you to know that I never intended for any of this to happen", he continued, voice a little more audible now. "And I'm very sorry for the way it turned out".

John cleared his throat, preparing to say something, but Sherlock stopped him. "No, please, let me finish."

"Ok"

"It was meant to be a game. Entertaining, you know? I was just a little bit mad you hadn't told me about this earlier, but really I just wanted to see how far you would go - thought we might end up having some fun ridiculing other people's crazy fantasies, laughing about their terrible writing or cheesy approach. Maybe poke fun of your sexual orientation a bit, that's always amusing. I don't know, I thought we'd have a good time.  
But even before you started reading, I could tell that I had misjudged the situation severely. You were taking this so seriously - you always take everything way too seriously John, and it's one of the things I lo... admire about you, but for this I wish you could have just turned it off. But I let you go on, thought I'd be able to break the ice sooner or later.  
And then you started reading, and it quickly became apparent to me that not only were you taking this game too seriously, but that you were actually also truly, honestly involved with this. More than I had thought possible.  
Trust me, John, I HAD wanted to make you feel slightly uncomfortable, making you read out dirty things, gay subject matter, but I thought it'd be funny...and believe me when I say that I had absolutely no idea you felt this way...Yes, clearly you have been engaging in self-gratification to some of those stories lately, as I deduced before, but I had just categorized that as a normal, biological reaction. We both know you're kidding yourself when you say you're completely, a hundred percent straight - and I thought this was just you, finally indulging in some of your homoerotic tendencies.

But until I heard you read, watched your body language, and your face, the way you looked at me, I have to admit that I was embarrassingly unaware that you didn't just find pleasure in the abstract of this, but in the thought of me.  John, had I known, I would have never made you do such a thing. I'm not that heartless.  
   
But by the time I realized all this, it was too late, way too late, and I didn't know what to do, I'm rubbish at dealing with sentiment. I was overwhelmed, so I short-circuited, and I did and said things I shouldn't have, and John...I'm so sorry, John. Can you...can you find it in yourself to forgive me?"

Sherlock still wasn't looking at him, but John thought he caught the glistening of a silent tear on his friend's cheek. He was touched by the apology - he had never heard such a heartfelt monologue from the detective in all the time he'd known him, so the only thing he could think of doing was to reach out and stroke his friend's back, soothingly.

"Of course I forgive you, you idiot", John whispered. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he added. "Sherlock, don't get me wrong, I do understand your reasoning, but...Well, last night there were moments when I was under the impression that...well, that you might be enjoying yourself, too.  I guess it's just hard for me to comprehend why you would have...acted the way you did, if you were - aroused, too? Am I wrong here, Sherlock?" There. He had got it off his mind, and all his cards were out on the table now.

Sherlock turned to look at him, then reached out to cover one of John's hands with his own, squeezing it lightly. "No, no, you're right. I just...I just can't explain, right now...Please?"

"Alright", John nodded, "it's fine. Thank you, for, you know, apologizing. I appreciate that."

Slowly, Sherlock retracted his hand, then left the room quietly, leaving John no less confused than he had encountered him, but much less hurt.


	12. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes an unexpected announcement.

When John entered the living room later that day, he found that Sherlock had locked himself in his room. He probably should have been far less concerned than he was, seeing as this was just another aspect of the man's usual behavior. Moreover, he found his laptop missing and assumed it was probably locked away with the detective.

John went about his day as he normally would, preparing lunch, consuming it and leaving a plate out for Sherlock (who wouldn't eat it, of course, but he never gave up trying), running some errands, bringing Mrs. Hudson her groceries, catching up on reading the week's papers. All in all, a pretty normal day off that was only slightly thrown off track by Sherlock not even leaving his room once, which John found slightly worrisome after the strange conversation they had had that morning.

It was nearing 7:30pm and John was just watching some crap telly when the door to Sherlock's bedroom finally opened. The man himself emerged - still just as disheveled as he had been in the morning - and walked over to stand in front of John's chair. "You are the bravest man I know, John Hamish Watson. You were extraordinarily brave last night, so I have decided to repay you with a little rematch. Tonight, 9 pm sharp again.", he announced ceremoniously, then stepped away without waiting for an answer and returned to his room. A few minutes later, John could hear the shower turn on.

He didn't know what to make of this, but then again, he never really did, with Sherlock. What had he meant by rematch? Was he going to make John read something again? He didn't specify what, though... Also, he wasn't sure he'd be up for another round, not after how last night had ended.

Or maybe Sherlock had done some reading and browsing himself and was going to give John a lecture tonight? That would certainly explain the hours locked away in his room with John's laptop (although not entirely, given how insanely fast of a reader Sherlock was - he probably wouldn't even have needed this many hours to read every single piece of fiction in that forum!), yet the point of such a venture didn't quite reveal itself to John. He guessed he just would have to wait and see.


	13. The Gift of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reads John a piece of fiction that is rather revealing in an entirely different way

At 9 on the dot, Sherlock stepped out of his room, and John's breath was taken away. Gone was the mad scientist look of earlier, replaced by one of Sherlock's finest suits, a crisp white shirt and unusually tamed hair. He looked like he was about to attend trial, or leave for his own wedding, and he sported a slightly nervous smile on his lips to match. All this, for a silly game with John? The man was such a drama queen who liked celebrating the oddest moments in life - and John had to admit that he loved him for it, although he suddenly felt a bit shabby in his same old beige jumper and dark jeans.

Sherlock strode over to his chair, laptop under his arm, and greeted John with an odd: "Thank you for showing up."

John shrugged. "Sure...Didn't know this was going to be a fancy affair", he gestured at Sherlock's outfit.

The detective instantly looked rather unsure of himself - something one didn't see too often - but then quickly regained his posture. "Well, I suppose maybe today it was me taking things a little too seriously", he admitted, nontheless straightening his shoulders confidently as he unbuttoned his jacket before sitting down and opening the computer.

"I'm not going to explain much", Sherlock started, "as I'm hoping that it will become fairly evident while I read why I have chosen this story." - So he WAS going to read him some fiction. John was intrigued. "It was originally written in third person, but I actually rewrote the piece to be told from my perspective. I expected it would facilitate things."

John just nodded, baffled. Sherlock actually was taking this seriously. He cleared his throat, then started reading .

**_The Gift of Truth_ ** **_by William_S._Scott_ **

 

_I had wanted John Watson from the moment I first saw him. When he entered the room at St. Bart's, immediately commanding everyone's attention in his military stance, eyes strong and a smile that wasn't given lightly, I knew somewhere deep down that I wanted him. Of course I was Sherlock Holmes, and I couldn't afford such a thing - alone is what I had, after all, alone is what would protect me. So I didn't indulge, I told him off right away, and that was that._

_  
_John admired Sherlock for braving this challenge with such grander poise than he had managed to the night before. Aside from a slight blush that had appeared on the detective's cheeks, he didn't seem to be affected by the oddness of the situation at all, voice steady and clear, his posture upright but tense. Of course John didn't know what this fiction would contain, and if one assumed that sexual subject matter wasn't going to be a big part of it (after last night, he really couldn't imagine that it was), Sherlock's comparative calmness was justified.

_Somewhere along the way, though, I must have neglected my caution, for here we were. It was John's birthday, he had gone out to the pub with some of his friends and upon his surprisingly timely return I could tell instantly from the way he walked and the stains on his shirt that he had had three beers followed by several shots of tequila. A terrible combination, but he seemed to be faring rather well, considering.  
Slightly tipsy, he approached me in the kitchen, where I was busy cataloguing the effects of different acids on thumb prints. "Sherlock!", he greeted me enthusiastically, patting my shoulder, "It's my birthday!"_

_"Yes, I am aware of that, John. I already congratulated you this morning, I believe once is sufficient?"_

_"Yes, yes, you git. Don't you have a present for me, though?" He gave me what he probably assumed was a coy look. I was confused._

_"I already gave you that this morning, too. Remember, my essay about the different ways in which your time in the military has impaired your ability to resolve conflicts with your sister? I shouldn't think tonight's alcohol intake has killed off enough of your brain cells to make you forget about that?"_

_  
_John couldn't help but chuckle out loud, interrupting Sherlock's flow of reading. It was funny, because Sherlock HAD actually got him a ridiculous scientific essay for his birthday before, and he didn't think he had ever told anyone about it or posted it on the blog, which made this coincidence hilarious. Sherlock looked somewhat offended at the interruption, and John pulled himself together, motioning for the other man to go on.

_"No, no, I remember", John slurred slightly, "I was talking about a REAL gift, though. You know, something you put your heart into?"_

_I didn't understand what he meant, and he must have concluded as much from my face._

_"Something like this", he came closer, touching my arm, then my face, and suddenly leaning in to press our lips together. I was too dumbfounded to react immediately, allowing him momentarily to draw me close, before I pushed him away from me._

_"What are you doing?", I shouted out, panic evident in my voice._

_"What I should have done a long time ago, Sherlock", was his simple response._

_I stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide, before I could collect my wits._

_"I don't know what has got the idea into your daft little mind that I would ever so much as want to regard you, let alone touch you in that way, John, but listen closely now: I will forget this ever happened, and you will learn to control yourself and never EVER lay a finger on me again, do you understand? I have never been able to grasp how exactly you manage to seduce so many different women all the time, but you can't honestly have thought I would be anything like those skanks, could you? I'm Sherlock Holmes, I don't have friends, and I certainly don't have friends with benefits. Clear?"_

  
John gulped. This passage brought back memories of the previous night, of how hurtful and mocking Sherlock had suddenly become, and although he quickly recalled his mate's apology in the morning, it still stung, the wound threatening to tear open again. He could tell Sherlock had caught on to his train of thoughts, as stormy grey irises look up from the computer screen, caught John's and conveyed something that was inexplicably tender and deeply apologetic.  
  
  


_John left without another word, and I slumped down at the kitchen table, unable to go back to my experiment, unable to move or think._

_Still sitting there like paralyzed, I had no idea how much time had passed when I heard muffled sounds coming from John's bedroom. He was crying, I had heard his sobs before in the middle of the night, when he must have just awoken from a nightmare. I had been told previously that I didn't have a heart, but what I experienced breaking inside of me at that very moment felt a surprising lot like one. I had realized that I might have gone a little overboard with my reaction to his kiss the second those words left my mouth, but I hadn't been aware just how much I hurt him. Now I saw - or, more accurately: heard - and that's when I made my decision._

_I grabbed a little flask from the top shelf of the cupboard and slowly made my way up to John's room._

_He didn't answer to my hesitant knocks, so I simply opened the door and entered, instantly greeted by a furious shout from the bed. "Get the fuck out, Sherlock!"_

John was once again taken back to the not so distant past, when Sherlock had come into his room that morning to apologize. He didn't have time to dwell on the thought though, as Sherlock continued reading, his voice soft like honey now as he impersonated his own alter ego.

_"John", I tried to calm him, "John....I need to...I have something...Please, just look at me."_

_He did, and his eyes were reddened and puffy and angry._

_I waved the flask at him. "This is something I've been working on for a while now, and while it is not entirely out of the testing phase yet, I have been informed that it works reliably. It's a truth serum, it makes anyone who consumes it speak the truth for approximately 40 minutes. This is my gift to you."_

_"I don't want that crap, Sherlock", he spat out, before his eyes widened as he watched me take a big sip from the flask. "Ooooh."_

_"It should take about half an hour to kick in. Whether you want to accept this gift or not is entirely up to you. I'll be downstairs."_

A truth serum. Sometimes John wished he did indeed have something of the sort to sneak into Sherlock's tea, to finally understand the man and all his cryptic ways. He sighed and was shot a disconcerted look before the detective continued on.

_He showed up. Of course he did. I didn't know whether to be relieved or scared._

_We both sat in silence for a minute, before I encouraged him: "Please, ask away."_

_"Why are you doing this, Sherlock?"_

_"Because I hurt you, terribly, and there's no way I can ever explain to you, I won't let myself. But I have realized that you deserve the truth, and this is the only way."_

_"What truth?"_

_"That I love you." I flinched. If I had still had my doubts about the effectiveness of the serum, they certainly were eliminated now._

_  
_John's heart stopped for a second, reveling in the way Sherlock sounded and looked when speaking those three words which had likely never before crossed his lips. Then he quickly reminded himself that this wasn't real, and disappointment slapped him across the face.

_"But...I don't understand..."_

_I smiled, bitterly. "That's what this is for. You have about 32 more minutes to try to understand."_

_"Ok", he took a deep breath, "If you love me, why haven't you shown it, before?"_

_"Because I can't afford love. For what I do, to survive, I need to be master of my own transport at all times. Loves distorts that."_

_"Is that the only reason?"_

_"No." I swallowed. "I'm...I'm scared. You mean a lot to me, John, more than I thought anyone ever could, more than my own life. And when you walk out on me, it will already destroy me as it is. If we were to be even closer than we are, it would just downright kill me to see you leave. I'm selfish, I don't want - CAN'T take - that pain."_

_"What makes you think I would walk out on you?" He sounded incredulous._

_"Everyone does. Sooner or later, everyone leaves. I disappoint people, I hurt them, and then they walk away. It's just the way things are, a reliable pattern - I have gathered enough proof to support my hypothesis. And I have learned to accept it."_

Sherlock sounded so sad, so sincere, reading those lines, and John doubted anyone could be that good of an actor. He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second as he realized that despite the detective's poised outside demeanor, this must be intensely difficult for him, for - whether he wanted to admit it or not - this fiction probably hit closer to home than he had ever revealed before. John thought he understood now why the man across from him had chosen this piece - last night had been about John unveiling a secret that was hard for him to come to terms with. Tonight was about Sherlock, doing the same for him.

_I could see John get angry again: "You idiot! I have lived with you, your arrogance, your moods, your intolerable behavior, EVERY BLOODY THING ABOUT YOU, for 17 months now, and I haven't walked away. I've considered it, surely, but never enough to pull through with it. For all the annoying things, there will always be everything else you give me - that only YOU could give me - that makes up for it. MORE than makes up for it. I couldn't leave you if I wanted to, Sherlock, are you not aware of that??"_

_"No...Honestly, I'm surprised you have lasted this long."_

_"Shut it, Sherlock, and just believe me when I say that I will never leave you. Not unless you want me to."_

_I went silent, considering his words, and although I was reluctant to believe them, I felt a warmth seep through me that was new, and strangely comforting._

_"So, earlier...", he continued, and I knew instantly what he was getting at._

_"Yes, that's the reason I pushed you away. The reason why I said all those harsh things to you, and I am so sorry, John. I was hurtful, and unfair, and I had no right to be. I was selfish, once again, although believe me, there was nothing more I truly craved than that kiss, and your touch."_

_"But you've never been hurtful like that before, Sherlock..."_

_"You've also never kissed me before. I had no idea you felt this way about me, John, I honestly didn't. So long as I thought my love was unrequited, it was safe to keep you close, despite my reservations about more than friendship. And then you bloody kissed me, and it hit me that this is what you actually wanted, and suddenly you were attainable, and there was so much destructive temptation around me!" I got agitated, reliving those moments of painful realization. "All I could think about was that I had to make sure you'd never want me again, because I didn't trust myself in your presence any longer. So I hurt you, and mocked you - and for a split second I was actually glad that it worked, relieved that I successfully pushed you away."_

It made sense now. Sherlock's behavior the previous night, his cold, commanding tone, his mocking, his biting remarks. If John still had any doubt in his mind about the validity of this explanation, all he had to do was look over at his friend, whose stare was glued to the screen deliberately, ever trying to compose himself, yet unable to hide the traitorous shimmer of tears in his eyes.

_"But you're not cruel like that", John continued for me, "my obvious pain was too much for even you to take responsibility for, hurt YOU more than it probably did even me...because unlike what others have said, you DO have a heart, Sherlock Holmes, and if you'd only bothered to ask me, I could have told you so."_

_I didn't realize immediately that he had started coming towards me, as my eyes were strangely clouded, my vision blurry. Then suddenly, his hand was in my hair, softly, and his lips were upon mine once again as he bent down to kiss me tenderly - and this time, I let it happen._

  
With that, Sherlock gently pushed the laptop shut and stared over at John, looking more vulnerable than the blogger had ever seen his best friend.  
John wanted to tell him that he got it, that he understood: this piece of fiction was the real-life Sherlock's truth serum - his way of overcoming himself to let John share in his feelings, something he was not adept to dealing with. John also had the distinct suspicion that if he were to browse the forum for this particular story, he would never find it. He would never inquire, and Sherlock would never admit it, but something told John that he was looking at the author at that very moment.  
Despite the strangeness of it all, this gesture was so utterly sweet, innocent and precious that John was simply too overwhelmed to find the right words.  
  
All he yearned to do was get up, wrap his arms around the other man and kiss him, but considering the implications of what he had just heard - that Sherlock was immensely afraid to let himself get any closer to John - he was unsure of how to proceed. Had this served merely as an explanation of his actions, a renewal of the status quo, or had it been a desperate call for help?

Sherlock must have sensed his inner torment, because he smiled at him shyly, then spoke, his voice now quivering more than it had the entire time he was reading. "It's alright, John. I don't think I'd mind it right now if you'd...I mean, if you still want to..."

That was all the invitation John needed. He walked over to the detective, extended his hand to him and then pulled him to a stand before cradling the taller man's face in his hands. Locking his gaze with Sherlock's, he slowly brushed his thumb over those plush lips before leaning in, reaching up, and initiating a gentle, unhurried kiss.


	14. Virgin!lock

They kept kissing for what seemed like eternity, tenderly exploring each other's mouths with a patience and softness that neither of them had expected from the other. They had eventually moved to the sofa for more comfort, sitting side by side, facing each other, Sherlock's leg draped lazily over John's. No words were spoken between them for a long time, almost as if neither of them dared to interrupt this precious moment.

Finally, Sherlock pulled back, and John was pleased to see that his face and lips had taken on a lovely shade of pink.  "That feels nice", he commented quietly.

"Yeah?", John was somewhat bemused. "What, did you expect it to be horrible?"

"I didn't know what to expect", Sherlock admitted, slightly defensive, "From an observer's point of view, kissing has just always seemed rather unhygienic and pointless to me."

"But certainly you have..."

Sherlock looked to the side, clenching his jaw.

"You have not." John stated. Sherlock had never kissed anyone before him. John didn't know why he was so surprised, but he was overwhelmed with the implications of that simple statement.

Sherlock gave a bitter laugh, still not looking at him. "Virgin!lock, isn't that what they call it? In the forums? The Woman knew. Mycroft knows. The fans know. How does everyone know and you act surprised?" He didn't wait for an answer. "This is exactly what I knew would happen. I just didn't expect it quite SO soon, but I guess it does limit the damage. You are disappointed. And you don't even know the half of it yet, but already I can see that I let you down."

"No, no, Sherlock, you didn't. It doesn't make a difference whether you've kissed before, you seem to have it down quite perfectly, so who am I to complain?", John tried to reassure the detective lightly.

"You don't get it, do you? It's not just kissing that I've never done before."

"Well, that, yeah. Figured as much. But that doesn't matter, either, Sherlock!"

"It matters to you." Sherlock was serious.

"What I mean is that we can take all the time you need, if we decide this is something we would like to pursue. Don't forget that I've never been with a man myself, so this is new territory for me as well." John was sincere.

"No, you don't understand, John. There's a reason I have never engaged in sexual activities. It's not my first time that concerns me, or intercourse with a man. It's sex in general. As my dear brother has put it so accurately: sex alarms me."

"But why? Are you...asexual? Because if you are, that's fine, it's perfectly fine". John was reminded of their first conversation at Angelo's, except back then he had been referring to Sherlock being gay.

"No, I'm fairly certain that I'm not asexual. I have desires - I just have no desire to act upon them. Sex means the relinquishing of control, it means making yourself vulnerable to another person, and it means the pursuit of sentiment. I don't feel comfortable with either one of those - thus, sex alarms me."

Of course. John should have seen it coming, should have been able to deduce it himself. Isn't that what he had thought about the detective's stance towards sex all along? Maybe in less drastic terms, but nevertheless. How dared he think that somehow with him, it'd be different? That he could miraculously change Sherlock's mind?

"You're thinking", Sherlock observed, and didn't sound pleased. "Have you realized yet that I was right? That I would disappoint you?"

"I'm not disappointed", John insisted, although he wasn't sure if he was entirely honest. "I'm just a little thrown".

"Of course you are. To someone like you, who experiences sex as such an essential, natural part of their being, this must sound completely delusional... "

"No - "

Sherlock ignored him. "...but I'm not like that. Sex completely goes against everything I have been teaching myself, everything I've been living by since my early adolescence, I don't know if I'll ever be able to just give myself over to that."

John was astonished at how detached Sherlock sounded, but then again he had probably practiced his arguments in his head a hundred times.

"Is this why you've been so concerned with emphasizing your superiority, your assumed position of control whenever we have talked about anything relating to sex? Not because that's what you want, but that's the only way you feel you could even consider it - in control?"

He could see that Sherlock hadn't expected him to make this deduction, and he was secretly pleased with himself. He could also read from the other man's pained expression that he was right.

"Hey", John voice was soft as he decided that they had both had enough revelations for the night, "whatever happens, or doesn't happen, we'll figure it out, ok? I promise I won't leave you either way. Ever."

"You can't promise eternity, John, it's not logical...", came Sherlock's expected objection, but John quickly silenced him with a finger to his beautiful lips.

"Shhh. Back to kissing for now, hmm?" No objection, this time.


	15. Kisses and a Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will John and Sherlock ever be able to take their relationship beyond kissing?

Almost a week had passed and they hadn't had time to revisit the subject as they had taken on two high profile cases which kept them chasing through half of London and spending their nights doing extensive research and reviewing cold cases. They had kissed occasionally, but never like that first night. During their stressful days, it served more as a reminder that they hadn't just imagined everything, an unspoken promise that there would be more (more what? Just more kisses or MORE? John still was uncertain about where they stood) once things calmed down a bit.

Finally, both cases were solved and John had just received his paycheck, so he decided to treat Sherlock to a dinner at Angelo's.

During dinner, both men - even Sherlock - concentrated mainly on consuming their food, seeing as how they had practically starved themselves over the past week. Over dessert, however, John's focus shifted entirely to the beautiful man next to him, who looked strangely content,  his features uncharacteristically softened by the candle light (it just now occurred to John that Angelo had known what was appropriate all along). "You're staring", Sherlock growled.

"Yeah? You're beautiful.", John whispered back, instantly stopping Sherlock from retorting that beauty was a construct entirely based on childhood impressions and whatnot with a simple but effective motion of his hand. Maybe the detective wasn't naturally a romantic, but John would try his hardest to teach him. He reached over to stroke Sherlock's leg under the table - an intimate gesture that was still so novel in its possibility that it made John's spine tingle with excitement.

"So, what do you think of this wine?", he asked, conversationally.

"It went well with the pasta", Sherlock shrugged, and John sighed.

"I suppose I like it", he quickly added.

"Good", John smiled, "because I was thinking we'd get another bottle to go, take it back to our place and unwind a little bit in front of the fireplace. What do you think?"

"I think that sounds a bit...uneventful, but sure, if you so wish". John could tell Sherlock had meant to say "dull", not "uneventful", and he appreciated the thoughtful substitution.

"I can assure you it won't be dull", the doctor promised with a smirk and licked his lips.

 

 

They had finished their wine, the fire was slowly dying and John felt lightheaded - although whether from the alcohol or the extensive snogging they'd been engaging in, he couldn't tell. They were positioned on the floor, on a heap of blankets and pillows, and as far as John could tell, Sherlock seemed to be rather enjoying himself as well.   
Although their kisses had still mostly been tender and sweet, John hadn't been able to help his rapidly growing arousal. By now, he was achingly hard, straining against his pants and wanted nothing more but Sherlock's hand on him. The younger man, however, still carefully avoided touching him anywhere below the waist, and although John knew better than to urge Sherlock into something he didn't want to do, he was very close to reaching an unbearable level of frustration.

He must have subconsciously expressed said frustration somewhat audibly, for Sherlock broke their current kiss and scanned him analytically.

"Something is bothering you.", he declared.

"No, no...I mean, not really."

Sherlock crooked an eyebrow. John reluctantly elaborated: "Well it's just..." he motioned to his extremely tight jeans, "getting a little uncomfortable here, if you know what I mean." He smiled awkwardly. "Maybe I'll just go and change into something more...uhm...accomodating? Yeah?"

 Sherlock looked at him apologetically: "I'm sorry, John..." And they both knew he was referring to so much more than just John's current predicament. He was apologizing for his inability to do anything about it, to satisfy John properly, and it was obvious that the guilt was nagging away at him. They still hadn't brought up the subject of sex again, and John wasn't even sure if there was anything more to discuss.

"No, it's fine, it's not your fault", he smiled weakly, "Well, uh...actually, it is, but you know what I mean." With that, he went to his room to change into his pajama pants and quickly considered providing himself some release, but oddly enough it would have felt like cheating on Sherlock, despite their dilemma.

Upon his return, he could instantly tell that something inside of Sherlock had shifted. He wore a determined expression now, finger's of one hand drumming away on his knee nervously while the other gripped John's arm tightly as soon as he reclaimed his space on the floor.

"John, I have decided that I should like to give it a try. Sex, I mean. You are a man with an active sex drive, and I have no right to deny you gratification."

John was amused at Sherlock's formal approach -never out of character, that one - but he managed to retain a serious face for the other man's benefit. No need to add to his insecurities any more.

"I don't want you to do anything just for me, though", he pressed, conveying his sincerity through his eyes and voice.

"I...uhm...well, it wouldn't be just for you", he said and nodded down towards his crotch, which was sporting a considerable erection of its own. They both smiled.

"I just can't promise you that I'll be able to pull through with it", Sherlock added, "I don't want to disappoint you."

"You won't", John promised and took Sherlock's hand in his own. "Nothing you don't want to do, ok? Say the word and we'll stop, and it won't be a big deal."

The detective nodded, squeezing John's hand. "Meet me in my bedroom in a few minutes?", he asked.

John agreed and went upstairs to collect some condoms and lube, his demeanor outwardly calm for the sake of Sherlock, but his heart fluttering nervously up to his throat.


	16. Johnlock...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's and Sherlock's first attempt at sex...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many possibilities how this could have played out, but I chose an approach that in pace and intensity (and possibly awkwardness) matches the track record of the story to date. Hope you enjoy, anyway!

When he entered Sherlock's bedroom, the man greeted him sitting on the bed wearing black silk pajama pants and an emerald green dressing gown (John noted that the man seemed to have an endless abundance of those garments). During his absence, Sherlock had apparently pulled himself together enough to almost hide his nervousness completely, only detectable now in the slight tremble of his fingers and as a fraction of insecurity in his darkened eyes.

John stored away the items he'd brought, not wanting to alarm Sherlock, and stood between the detective's legs, bending down for a gentle kiss. He roamed his hands over those silk-clad shoulders and back while Sherlock clutched onto his waist tightly, fingers digging into his shirt anxiously.

"Hey", the doctor broke the silence and took a small steps backwards, "how about I let you catalogue me, hmm? All of me, I mean. Give your mind full disclosure of who and what you're dealing with? Maybe it'll help..."  
He was slightly nervous at the suggestion, but did indeed think it might be beneficial to take some of the fear away from Sherlock by providing him a certain level of control, the activity of cataloguing being something he was used to - all the while demonstrating that rendering oneself vulnerable in front of the other wasn't as terrifying has he might assume.

Upon a small nod of agreement, John took off his shirt methodically, observing as Sherlock's watchful stare took in every inch of him. The scar on his shoulder, his hardened nipples, his stomach, which wasn't quite as fit anymore as he would have liked it to be, down to the trail of soft hair on his lower abdomen. "Turn around", he was ordered, and although he didn't quite understand what could possibly be interesting about his back, he complied. Upon a soft "okay", he turned back to facing Sherlock and was suddenly overcome with nervousness as he hooked his thumbs under his waistband, fully aware that his erection from earlier hadn't subsided. He bit his lip and slowly pushed down his bottoms, no pants underneath, revealing all of himself to a wide eyed Sherlock. He stood for a little bit, awkward and very aware that his dick had become even harder under the detective's scrutiny. Without having to be prompted, he turned around slowly, conscious that it was his buttocks likely commanding full attention now.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Can I touch you?", he asked carefully, anxiously.

"Of course", John smiled and stepped between the other man's legs again, taking his hands by the wrists and placing them on his exposed chest firmly. "Anything you want".

Sherlock's large but elegant hands started traveling almost on their own accord, fingertips touching, analyzing and committing to memory seemingly every cell of John's upper body. It felt wonderful to be touched by like this - systematically, yet so intimately and lovingly, and John yearned for his lower half to be included in the exploration.

Finally, he took a hold of Sherlock's hands and determinedly guided them down his body, over his hips and until they were resting on his behind. With trembling fingers, Sherlock continued his venture from there, kneading John's arse, traveling up and down his legs and finally, hesitantly, running one hand through the fair hair at the base of his shaft. John's breath caught and he couldn't help but let out a low moan when those long fingers suddenly wrapped around his hard cock, tentatively but feeling so strong and intensely exciting in their presence. Sherlock looked like he was at a loss of what to do next, but John didn't pressure him, he just stayed as he was. When he tried light, unhurried strokes, John thought he might just lose his mind, running his own hands through Sherlock's hair and emitting small noises of desire.

He could tell the other man was still watching him intently, cataloging every single one of his movements, vocals and expressions.

"Stop it", he finally breathed, "I don't want to come yet". He then held out a hand to the man in front of him and pulled him to a stand. Making sure Sherlock would be able to follow every single one of his movements, predict them, even, John started gently worshipping his torso with skilled hands, tugging lightly at the dressing gown until it slipped to the floor, revealing only bare, pale skin underneath.

He reveled in the sensation of being able to touch Sherlock like this, and didn't meet any resistance when he leisurely roamed all of the man's upper body. Much to his delight, a soft moan escaped those perfect lips as he graced a nipple with the fingers of one hand while tracing the other up and down Sherlock's prominent spine.  
  
He had just taken it a step further and commenced invading the territory still covered by Sherlock's pajama bottoms, rejoicing at the sight of a considerable bulge underneath the soft fabric, when he was being assaulted himself. Sherlock's hand had returned to his cock, stroking him more confidently now than he had before.  
Gasping with surprise, John locked gazes with Sherlock and was slightly disconcerted by what he saw in those eyes. They had taken on a predatory quality, something he had seen before...when Sherlock had knelt down in front of him that night he read the fan fiction. Somewhat worried by this change of pace but hesitant to stop Sherlock when he was clearly, unexpectedly, willing to proceed, John decided to let it go and give in to the welcome friction, rocking his hips into the touch and emitting small noises of desire.

Despite the pleasure clouding his mind, John had decided to reciprocate by rubbing Sherlock's very own hardness through his bottoms, and the air was filled with both of their needy moans. In a rush of bravery, John slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Sherlock's pants, about to close his fingers around the man's cock when he was suddenly thrown off balance. He realized he was being pushed to the ground forcefully, noting the presence of a strong hand on his shoulder as he complied.

Once on his knees, he bore witness to Sherlock shoving down and stepping out of his trousers, leaving him eye to eye with his hard and flushed prick. John swallowed at the sight, mouth watering and his own cock twitching in appreciation, as he was yet again taken by surprise when long fingers caught unrelenting hold of his hair and pushed him to close the gap between his mouth and his partner's cock. Before he could think properly, he was filled with the hardness that was Sherlock, trying not to choke as he was accustoming to the sensation. In a small rush of panic he thought that this was all happening too damn fast, that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

He clenched one fist by his side, bringing the other hand to Sherlock's hip seeking support. He had never gone down on a man before, the experience was novel and he didn't really know what to do, but Sherlock gave him no time to try and figure it out. Instead, he had already started thrusting into John's mouth mercilessly, leaving him half gagging, half trying to keep up with the motions - still reluctant to put an end to this uncomfortable experience, so long as the other man seemed to be enjoying himself. This was about Sherlock, after all, he reminded himself over and over again.

Suddenly, Sherlock's cock was withdrawn from John's mouth completely, and two shaking fingers were placed under his chin to lift up his face. Staring into Sherlock's eyes, he could see bewilderment and utter shock in them. "My god. You are crying". Panic in his voice.

"Oh my god, John, I'm so sorry. What have I done?" He stepped backwards until he hit the bed, collapsing on it, wide eyes still focused on John.

"It's just...gag reflex...natural", John panted, steadying himself as he got up to join Sherlock on the bed.

"No, no, no, this is all wrong!", Sherlock exclaimed and John didn't disagree, running a hand through his own hair in frustration.

They both sat and stared for a minute, before the detective resumed. "I don't know what I'm doing, John. It pains me to admit it, but I have absolutely no bloody clue".

"I don't either...I suppose I thought it'd just come to us naturally, somehow." He sounded defeated.

"It's my fault. Things were going fine, it was nice, until I panicked... I felt myself lose control at your touch, and I wanted to hold onto it so badly that I became manic - and took advantage of you in the process. My god, John, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, you can be in control if that helps you", John offered kindly.

"No. No I can't. How can I be in control when I don't know the first thing about this? Also I think I would quite enjoy it if...you know, you were in charge. I have considered various options and find that the thought quite appeals to me. Sexually, I mean. It's just getting there that's...challenging."

John grabbed Sherlock's knee, rubbing his thumb over it in a gesture which he hoped provided some comfort. "It's fine, Sherlock. If you want to stop this, it's completely alright. We can resume this another time...or not. Whichever you prefer."

"No.", Sherlock cleared his throat, and suddenly he looked extremely nervous once again. "I still want this - if you'll still have me. I just need you to take it away from me. Control. Just strip me of it, please."

John could only imagine how hard it must have been to say those words out loud, to make such a request, and he smiled at Sherlock affectionately. "Of course." Then he bent forward to the other man's ear, whispering: "Nothing you don't want. Promise."

Sherlock whispered back "Everything. I want EVERYTHING. ", and John was both surprised and not at the extent of the request. Surprised because hell, it was their first time, Sherlock's VERY first time, and he wanted it all, right away? Not surprised because this was Sherlock, and he always asked for too much. He didn't do things half-heartedly and John was going to respect that, give him that.

Slipping off of the edge of the bed, John took a quick moment to recompose himself, before turning back around to address the still seated Sherlock, his voice steady, calm and authoritative now. "Alright, I want you to lay back and let me watch you touch yourself, you understand?"

When Sherlock didn't comply immediately, he added a sharp "That's an order!", which seemed to do the trick.


	17. Giving Back to Fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is, the last chapter - full of smut, as promised! :)

"Alright, I'm finished", John announced and watched Sherlock reenter the bedroom only a few seconds later. As he climbed back into bed, John shifted to give him some more space, both of them now shoulder to shoulder, propped up against the headboard, facing the open computer on John's lap. They kissed lavishly for a minute and John enjoyed the welcome sensation of Sherlock's silky dressing gown against his still naked body.

"Finished, hmm?", the detective wanted to know, "Would you...would you mind reading it to me?" His voice was humble, small, and so different from the first time he had asked John to read something to him.

"Of course". John had expected as much, and he could feel all his nerve endings tickle with the incredible intimacy of the act, so much more meaningful and REAL now than it had been before.

Moving just a little bit closer to the man next to him, taking in his warmth and scent, John started reading from the screen.

 

**Relinquishing Control by Detective_and_the_Doctor**

_I watched as Sherlock hesitantly scooted back on the bed, laid down and moved his hand to his crotch, eyes never leaving mine. I stood there, parade rest, letting my eyes wander leisurely over the beautiful body in front of me. Sherlock truly looked like a sculpture, some ancient god, and currently so heartbreakingly insecure I had to be careful not to let my affection and protectiveness register on my stern face._

_"I want you to stroke your cock, slowly and firmly. Keep looking at me.", I demanded and Sherlock obliged. It was an intriguing sight, and I gulped._

John's voice was much calmer this time around, comforted by Sherlock's supportive rather than expectant presence next to him and the memory of the night's marvelous events.

_"Do you ever touch yourself?", I interrogated, seemingly detached._

_"Sometimes."_

_I raised an eyebrow and he instantly got the hint. Benefits of being with a brilliant mind._

_"Sometimes, Sir", he immediately corrected himself and I wanted to reward him, but didn't._

_"What do you think about when you do? Tell me. Don't leave anything out."_

_His breath hitched and I could tell he was uncomfortable sharing that information. Good. Uncomfortable was good. For now it was just vocally, but soon he'd feel uncomfortable in an entirely different context. This was just a warm up._

_"I think about you, Sir. Nothing...nothing explicit, usually, Sir, I'm sorry. Just...they way you would accidentally brush your leg against mine that day...a look you would give me at a crime scene...or the way your voice sounds in different situations. I...I love your hands, and I would have caught a glimpse of them handing me tea, or typing away on your computer...and I would imagine them...touching me, stroking me..."_

_I could tell he had started tugging on his cock more firmly at the thought and I wasn't ready to let him revel in pleasure yet._

_"Enough!", I commanded, " Hands above your head."_

_He was resistant and I watched a flicker of panic pass his unusually dark eyes._

_I took two big steps forward and slapped him on his thigh with my flat hand while raising my voice: "Now!". The hit wasn't very hard at all - I could never hurt this wonderful man -  but it was unexpected and loud and definitely effective. I would have preferred going easy on Sherlock, seeing as this was his first time, but we both knew that wasn't what he needed. Right now, he needed me to be strong, powerful, and in charge of him and the situation. He needed me to be his rock, his anchor, making sure he'd stay grounded even as he gave himself over to everything that truly frightened him in this world._

_I turned towards some of Sherlock's drawers and rummaged around for a bit, not letting him see what I had retrieved before climbing onto the bed, straddling Sherlock's hips and holding his hands in place above his head with one of my own. As I looked down into his face I saw that he was already a mess, with a hint of tears in his eyes, but judging from other evidence he was also clearly aroused by the situation._   
  


John was interrupted by Sherlock slipping a warm hand around his waist and placing small kisses on the side of his neck. He knew it wasn't easy for the detective to hear this, to hear his description like that, but they both needed to. It would be cathartic.

_  
I bent down and kissed him, roughly and unlike we ever had before. It was sloppy, tongues and teeth and lips everywhere, but it was perfect and incredibly sexy. He struggled against my hold on his wrists, but I knew I was stronger than I looked and my tight grip on him in combination with his desperate wriggling, causing friction in all the right places, made everything all the more enticing._

_I broke the kiss and produced the item I had retrieved from one of his drawers: a navy silk tie. I used it to secure Sherlock's hands together at the wrists and then fastened it to the headboard. I grinned a wicked smile as the man beneath me seemed astounded to be rendered to my mercy by one of the very items that would usually give him confidence and power._

"I'll never be able to wear a tie the same", Sherlock mused now, and John smiled.

_Slowly, I moved down on his body, teasing every inch of skin with small kisses, licks, sucks and bites. I switched from tender to rough and back , keeping him guessing what to expect and eliciting a myriad of desperate, startled or breathy moans from him. When I reached his hard cock, I took my time admiring it, licking it up and down, exploring everything with my mouth and hands - from the leaky head to the long shaft to his bollocks. I could tell that he was uncomfortable being examined so closely, particularly when he couldn't observe my actions or reactions, but this was all part of teaching him to let go. Moreover, it gave me an opportunity to familiarize with the rather novel situation myself, and I quickly found that I was thoroughly enjoying myself (and so was my achingly hard cock)._

_When I finally took him in my mouth, it was glorious and I was reassured by desperate whimpers coming from the man beneath me. I firmly held his hips in place with my hands, restricting him entirely in his movements and leaving it completely up to me to control speed and intensity as I sucked his dick passionately._

"Told you you'd suck my dick first", the younger man commented with a smirk on his lips. "You arrogant sod", John grumbled, pretending to be mad, "Keep this up and I'll MAKE you suck mine before you even know it". Although he had thought himself entirely spent, John felt an instant rush of blood to his groin at the idea. Ignoring it, he kept reading.

_I ceased my movements all together as Sherlock started trembling and pressed out a pained: "John...Sir, please, stop". For a moment I was afraid I might have somehow hurt him, or that he'd had enough, but looking up into his face I recognized that he had merely been about to lose himself in the pleasure. I wasn't ready for him to come yet, and neither was he. This wasn't the way I wanted it to happen._

_I sat up, kneeling by his side now, freeing his forehead from some sweaty curls that were clinging to it._

_"Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you, Sherlock?", I asked, and it was rhetorical._

_"I'm going to tease you with my fingers now, play with your hole until you're nice and ready for me, and then I'm going to finger you. First, I'll push one digit inside of you, get you ready for more, before I'll make you take a second one. You'll be nice and tight for me, Sherlock, so we'll see if you'll be able to take a third finger. You might want to, though, seeing as how my cock is much thicker than two fingers, hmm?"_

_I was breathing hard as I spoke those words, my cock throbbing between my legs and I desperately wanted to touch myself, but refrained. This was still about Sherlock. Sherlock, who wanted everything, right away, and me, who was going to give it to him. The only one he had ever trusted enough. For a moment, I was overwhelmed with the responsibility, but was quickly distracted by his response. Long, needy whimpers; a sound more beautiful than anything I had ever heard before. I silenced him by bending down and kissing him again - still fiercely but with a hint of reassurance, letting him know it would be okay, that he needed to have faith in me._

_With that, I grabbed the lube I had brought earlier - just in case - and slicked my fingers with a generous amount of it, before draping myself over his body, nudging his legs apart with my thigh and moving my kisses to his throat while my hand traveled downwards. I started off by gently rubbing his hole, spreading lube all around it and playfully and extensively probing around the rim. My mouth still caressing his throat, I bit down hard at the very moment I finally pushed my finger inside of him to the knuckle, hoping the temporary pain caused by my teeth would distract him enough to not worry so much about my entering him. He let out a startled cry, but didn't try to shift his hips away from my hand. I took my time exploring, stretching him out as far as possible with one digit.  
After a while, I sat back up, in between his legs this time, and - finger still buried inside of him - produced another order: "Legs spread, knees up, Sherlock. Let me see all of you."_

_He flinched at the demand and I knew it was asking a lot of him, to make him assume such a vulnerable position in front of me. "Fine, I guess I won't fuck you then...", I said seemingly disinterested, and started to pull my finger out of him slowly. Blackmail to follow my order, or an easy way out if he decided he didn't want to take this step yet, after all._

_He swallowed hard, let out some kind of curse and pulled up his knees and spread his legs as if fighting some invisible force._

_"God, look at you", I marveled, and meant it. "You look bloody gorgeous Sherlock, and I can't wait to make you mine". He groaned, and I hoped it was with positive anticipation._

_I helped him hold up his legs with one arm, while my other hand was now busy breaching his hole with two fingers. I had been right, he was incredibly tight, but I would give him all the preparation he needed, although my patience was running thin considering that I was harder than I probably had ever been in my life._

_It took us a while, but with skilled movements (there were moments when having undergone medical training had its perks, after all) and lots of lube, I had finally prepared him enough to accommodate three of my fingers with relative ease. At that point, Sherlock was a wreathing, swearing, panting mess and I myself was covered in sweat and mad with arousal._

_"Alright", I breathed, "I think you're ready for me to fuck you now. If you truly want me to stop, just say so and I will. But if you don't object, I WILL fuck you into this mattress, shag you until you scream my name, and you WILL NOT come until I allow you to. Understand?"_

_Sherlock's answer was an unintelligible moan and I took it as his consent._

_Having taken precautions with a condom and more generous amounts of lube, I positioned myself at Sherlock's entrance, teasing him with the head of my cock before slowly starting to push inside of him._

_His loud moans mixed with mine and I watched him closely for any hints of extreme discomfort or pain - his expression looking strained and his eyes fluttering shut tightly (I let him - for now).  
I kept pushing and he didn't stop me until he had taken the entire length of me. I remained still for a while, settling in, letting him accustom. "Alright?", I asked, voice hoarse and breathless._

_"Mmm", he replied, eyes still closed, cheeks flushed, sweat running down his temples, "bit painful."_

_I hated the thought of him in pain more than anything, so I immediately offered: "Want me to pull out?"_

_"No, don't", he was quick to object, "Just...give me a minute"._

_I did. Carefully, I bent down to cover his chest, his stomach, his thighs and calves in a series of small, reassuring kisses while stroking his cock languidly. I didn't have to stay in character anymore, me being inside of him was all the reminder he needed that I was in control._

_After a little bit, he gave me a small nod and I began to gently rock my hips against him. The movement was minuscule, but it felt amazing. Sherlock stretched around my cock - so tight and warm and forbidden -was divine and I knew it wouldn't take much for me to unravel._

_I kept stroking Sherlock's cock firmly as I steadily began fucking him a little harder. Judging by his labored breathing and deep red prick, it wouldn't take much more for Sherlock to come apart, too._

_"Open your eyes", I more asked than demanded, and he obliged. I stared into those brilliant, gorgeous eyes and could see in them that he was close, that he was ready to give himself over to me fully - so I thrust myself into him with considerably more force than I had before while working his cock feverishly, panting "Come for me, Sherlock". I watched him do as I asked, coming with a long cry, shuddering all throughout, and the sheer intensity and beauty of it sent me over the edge, too._

_I pulled out and quickly crawled up the bed to untie Sherlock's hands before collapsing on top of him, my face nestled on his shoulder, arm draped around his chest. He was still shuddering and breathing heavily, and it took me a moment to realize that he was crying. I kissed a tear from his cheek and looked up into his eyes questioningly, hoping the experience hadn't been too intense - or, god forbid, awful - for him. The small smile he produced, in combination with his pulling me closer to his chest, was answer enough, and I was overwhelmed with happiness._   
  


When John finished, he turned to stare at Sherlock expectantly. "Well...that was...rather explicit and descriptive", he remarked, and his voice was suspiciously deep and thick.

"Mmhmm. But accurate", John whispered and moved closer to the man next to him, his hand venturing to Sherlock's center almost on its own accord. He was pleased to discover that what he found there was a hard, full cock and he was relieved that it hadn't just been him who had become extremely turned on again by rereading their night's events.

"Sooo...hit "post"?", he inquired, fingers never ceasing to play with Sherlock's prick.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?", the detective wanted to know. "As little as I know about sex, I am fairly certain it's something most people would like to keep private? Or so I heard..."

"There are tons of erotic Johnlock fiction on this forum", John reasoned, "no one will ever even suspect that this one is by the real Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, or that it is based on true events."

"I suppose the naughtiness of it does have a certain appeal...", he admitted.

"...and it would be a unique way to give back to the fiction authors for getting us here in the first place", John finished and - not for the first time - marveled at the way everything had played out for the two of them.

"...so long as you delete that part about me crying", Sherlock quickly added, "it is rather undignified and not very realistic on top of it."

With an amused roll of his eyes, John did him the favor (although it HAD happened, no matter how much Sherlock wanted to deny it) and went on to post their story to the fiction archive before closing his laptop and storing it away .

"And now?", Sherlock inquired.

"And now," John turned to look at his lover, "you're going to give me a blowjob."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your ongoing support! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos, as always, much encouraged! :)


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